The Mark of the Assassin

arguments and conclusions. When it was finished he overnighted it
    to Adrian Carter at Langley. "There's nothing I hate more than
    Washington on Inauguration Day," Carter said the following evening. "I
    could use some sea air and some of Cannon's wine. Mind if I come up for
    a couple of days?"
    "HOW MUCH LONGER do I have to put up with these goons?"
    Michael asked the next afternoon as he bumped along the sixth fairway of
    the Gardiners Bay Country Club in a golf cart. A pair of CIA security
    officers in matching Patagonia parkas rode in a cart behind them,
    muttering into handheld radios. "Shit, I trickled into the rough,"
    Carter said, as he lurched to a stop next to his ball and climbed out of
    the cart. He pulled a nine-iron from his bag and prepared for a 140-yard
    shot to the green. "Are you going to answer my question?" Michael said.
    "Jesus, Michael, come on. Not while I'm addressing the ball."
    Carter struck the shot. The ball plopped into the left bunker.
    "Goddammit, Osbourne!"
    "Go easy on yourself, Tiger. It's thirty-eight degrees out here."
    Carter climbed into the cart and drove toward the green. "Those goons,
    as you put it, are here to protect you and your family, Michael, and
    they'll stay until I'm satisfied your life is no longer in any danger."
    "Right now my life is in danger because I'm riding in an open golf cart
    in the middle of winter."
    "I'll take you home after nine and play the back alone."
    "You're insane."
    "You should take up the game."
    "I have enough frustration in my life. Self-inflicted wounds I can live
    without. Besides, I'll be lucky if I can ever raise a beer with this
    arm, let alone swing a golf club."
    "How's Elizabeth doing?"
    "As well as can be expected, Adrian. Killing takes its toll, even when
    it's in self-defense. The fact that you were able to keep it from going
    public has made it easier for her. I can't thank you enough."
    "She's a gem," Carter said. "I've always said you're the luckiest man I
    know."
    Carter's chip rolled past the cup, leaving him with a ten-foot putt for
    bogie. "Fuck it," he said. "It's too goddamned cold for golf. Let's
    spend the afternoon by the fire getting drunk."
    "DID YOU READ IT?" Michael asked, as Carter pulled the cork from an
    Italian merlot and poured two glasses. "Yes, I read it. I had one of two
    choices--shit-can it or pass it up the line."
    "Which choice did you make?"
    "I chose the coward's route. Passed it up the line with no comment."
    "You're a chicken shit."
    "It's called the bureaucratic shuffle. Protecting one's flank."
    "Protecting one's ass."
    "Same thing. You could learn a thing or two from me. Your ass is usually
    fully exposed, hanging in the wind."
    "I'm a field man, Adrian. Field men make lousy desk men. You always said
    so yourself."
    "That's true."
    "So how come you became such a great desk man?"
    "Because I wanted a life, and I couldn't have a life if I was running
    from one shithole to the next, trying to remember what my cover name was
    that week."
    "Who'd you give my memo to?"
    "Monica Tyler, of course."
    "Let me guess--she shit-canned it."
    "In a New York minute."
    "I didn't expect her to do anything else."
    "So why did you write it?"
    "Because I believe it to be true."
    "You seriously believe Mitchell Elliott, with the assistance of a secret
    band of rogue operatives, brought down that airliner so he could build
    his missile defense system?"
    Michael nodded. "Yes, I do."
    "That falls into the category of a charge too dangerous to make--not
    without conclusive proof. Monica recognized that, and so did I. Frankly,
    what bothers me is why an officer of your experience can't see it."
    Elizabeth knocked and entered the room. The senator had convinced her to
    take the Athena out on the bay with him for a couple of hours. Her face
    was bright red with the cold. She stood before the fire and warmed her
    backside against the flames. Carter said, "I thought you were supposed
    to be taking it easy."
    "Dad did all the sailing," she said. "I just drank herbal tea and tried
    to keep from freezing to death."
    "Everything all right?" Carter asked. "Everything's fine. The babies are
    perfect."
    "God, that's wonderful," he said, and a large smile broke across his
    usually placid face. "What were you boys talking about?"
    "Shop," Carter said. "Okay, I'm leaving."
    "Stay," Michael said. "Michael, some of this is--"
    "She can hear it firsthand, or she can hear it later in bed. Take your
    pick, Adrian."
    "Stay," he said.